Trials
by tiylaya
Summary: Movie-verse. A peek at what's going through the thoughts of some of the participants as The Hood's trial gets under way.
1. Scaling Olympus

**Trials**

_[movie-verse] A peek at what's going through the thoughts of a few of the participants as The Hood's trial gets under way._

This story is based on the 2004 Johnathon Frakes movie 'Thunderbirds', produced by Working Title, which was based in turn on the 1960s television series of the same name, created by Gerry Anderson. Of course, I don't own any of these characters or concepts, and respect the copyright and intellectual property of their creators.

This is less of a story and more of a series of six vignettes, each looking at what's going through a different character's mind six months after the end of the 2004 movie, as The Hood's trial comes to court.

Like the movie, I know my stories have their good points, but could probably be better realised. Nonetheless, I hope they keep you entertained. Many thanks to my beta reader, Spinkle22, for helpful comments and advice on this one. Any remaining faults are, of course, entirely my own! Feedback or reviews of any kind – even a two word 'liked it' or 'hated it' – would be very welcome indeed.

* * *

**Part One - Scaling Olympus**

I stand quietly as the charges against me are read out. No fewer than seventeen counts of attempted murder of International Rescue personnel, either by myself or at my order, and another dozen or so of endangering lives with the intention of causing death or serious injury. Besides those, the other charges - theft of property, criminal damage, even one of trespass thrown in, one can only assume, as a weak joke - pale into insignificance.

I hear the horrified murmurs in the court, from the carefully vetted jury and the highly restricted viewing gallery. Their contempt of me is tangible as the prosecutor continues to read the charges. Three of the attempted murder counts are against the same boy. The brave boy. The bold boy. The boy that everyone in this courtroom is praising as a hero.

He's here somewhere, waiting to give evidence. Even with the blindfold around my eyes robbing me of my strongest powers, I can sense his presence. Jeff Tracy's youngest treasure.

_Does it feel good, Alan? To see 'justice' done? Are you reveling in your revenge, or just wishing you'd let me drop?_

He reacts as if he'd been slapped, and the image of a side room not far from here snaps into sharp focus. I'm in his head, watching, as his eyes widen.

_Oh yes, Alan._ I laugh. _You didn't expect me to be here, perhaps?_

In the courtroom, I'm told to sit, and I do so proudly, offering no word in my defense. The man who tried to kill International Rescue has already been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. These great heroes are untouchable – gods on their pedestals. No one wants to listen to one of their victims.

Despite the blindfold, I look directly up towards one of the court cameras with a smile that's all confidence and no apology. It will get out sooner or later, I'm sure. They'll be recording, although it's obvious they can't broadcast live. The privacy injunctions slapped on this case have been matched only by the curiosity surrounding it, both unprecedented in British legal history.

_Wishing we were in an American court, Alan?_ I throw the thought out on a whim. _Wishing you could call for the ultimate sanction and watch as I writhe in the pain of a legal murder?_

I feel him whimper, and he screws his eyes tight shut. He doesn't want me to see his brothers as they cluster around him, demanding to know what's wrong.

_Leave him alone!_ It's not so much speech as a wordless rush of emotion. This time it's my turn to snap my head back as if slapped.

I'd forgotten about my oh-so-talented niece. Untrained perhaps, her mind unfocussed as the chemical surges of adolescence do their worst to her body, but she's far from weak. Oh, what I could have done if I'd found this one earlier! Another thing to hate Jeff Tracy for: stealing her heart from me. She could have stood beside me as we conquered the world. My heir. My soul's child.

Even if she tries, she can't hide her revulsion at the thought. She stands between me and Alan like a defiant tigress defending her cubs... or her mate.

"Mr. Belagant, this is your last chance to answer a plea before the first witness is called."

The defender assigned to me is a weak child of a man. His voice is an irritant I am forced to endure, nothing more. Nonetheless, even I must yield occasionally to frustration. If Alan is protected from me then I will hurt his father in whatever way I must. The time for silence is over.

"Did Prometheus offer a defense when he scaled Olympus to steal fire from the gods?" I ask. I smile as my words are stricken from the court record. Everyone here heard them, and that was my only intent.

My fate is assured; I know that. But even petty revenge is better than none. I will force Jeff Tracy and his family to relive every second of that day. And as I rot in the deepest pit these pillars of justice can find for me, I'll know that on their island Olympus, the Tracy boys will never escape their memories.

My specter will haunt International Rescue. I couldn't steal their fire, but my taint will linger inside each of them whenever it is lit.

And perhaps there, at last, I have my justice.


	2. Waiting in the Wings

**Part Two - Waiting in the Wings**

It feels strange to be back down from the space station. Last time I breathed this air, my orbiting home was in ruins, and my body was bruised and broken. This time, it's only my spirit that is struggling to find peace.

The man we're here to face is the one who fired a missile at me. That should anger me. It should shape my world and my emotions, but it doesn't. I've come to accept that I was only a cog in the wheel - no more than a minor element in his grand plan. But he's also the man who tried to kill my brothers. He took Alan and tried to twist him, robbing him of his innocence, and I don't know that I can ever forgive him that.

Does that make me a bad person? I don't know. Perhaps if he showed even a little remorse for what he put us through six months ago, things would be different.

The unfamiliar pollen in the air is making my skin itch, and the gravity seems to drag my shoulders down towards the ground. This isn't like a furlough on the island. There is none of the camaraderie and comfort I know to expect there. This is an ordeal each of us is trying to face in our own way. And more than anything, I wish I was in Thunderbird Five and not having to endure it.

The others were surprised that I wanted to go back into space. They don't seem to understand that it was never my Thunderbird that failed me. Despite everything, the station survived. That reassures me, although I'll admit that the interceptor lasers Dad's fitted have helped along the way. The downlink to the ground has been limited too. The life support and other systems can be activated or enhanced remotely, but they will never drop below safe levels in answer to base's command.

When the time comes to de-orbit Thunderbird Five, we'll give the orders from aboard her, saying goodbye properly before Thunderbird Three takes us to safety. Thank God that won't be any time soon. Despite what The Hood tried to do to us, International Rescue has survived.

My eyes linger on Alan as my mind runs through that time. He's pacing the small room they've put us in, his expression determined but tense. Our kid brother really has sprouted these last six months, living up to his nickname. He's as tall as Scott now, and he exudes much of the same easy confidence, but there're moments still when you can see the frightened child peering through those blue eyes. I didn't see the ordeals he went through, but I know they still trouble him, from time to time.

Alan pauses in his pacing, not far from where I'm sitting. I feel a flash of sympathy as his eyes widen and he starts to tremble. As I reach out a gentle hand to touch his arm, I wonder whether to draw attention to his panic attack in front of the others, or to spare him the occasionally overwhelming love of our concerned brothers. His symptoms worsen. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking and pale, and now I'm on my feet, wrapping my arms around him reassuringly.

The others gather round and Alan relaxes, his breathing becoming more even as he shrugs off our concern. His eyes pick out Tin-Tin and Fermat where they stand arguing quietly in the far corner. Tin-Tin glances up at him and looks away quickly before I can see her expression. Like Alan, the kids left their uniforms on the Island, although the IR emblem is displayed proudly on each chest. Dad wants the jury to remember that these three were children when the man on trial attacked us. They haven't been since.

Virgil and Gordon exchange glances, teaming up to distract our little brother with taunts about his unruly hair. Alan's answer is spirited, and now I begin to relax as I ease him into the chair beside me. Dad gives me a nod of gratitude for spotting Alan's problem, but I don't need any thanks. I'm just wishing my own big brother Scott was here, so I could step back and let him be the strong one, the watchful one. I remind myself that he will be … later. In the meantime Scott and Penelope are keeping an eye open for Thunderbirds business. International Rescue is not shutting down for anything, not again.

A voice echoes down the corridor and an usher enters our waiting room, his eyes on Alan. Our little brother stands, confirming his name with a steady voice. Again his eyes seek out Tin-Tin and this time she nods reassuringly. She won't have long to wait. They're going to start with Alan and then the other kids before moving on to adult testimony. I'm not sure whether the thought is to spare them the stress of waiting, or whether they're being called first simply because they endured the most. Either way, all I can do is give Alan an encouraging smile and settle back into my chair, trying to soothe Virgil and Gordon's nerves with a more tranquil presence.

We've dealt with what happened to us all. We're not going to be shaken. And when Alan is through, we'll be here to add our two cents.

Waiting in the wings.


	3. Standing Firm

**Part Three – Standing Firm**

I was nine when I came to Tracy Island, although I don't know what made Mr. Tracy pick my parents and me out of the crowd and bring us to paradise. We owe him so much that I've never dared ask, in case I jinx it somehow and bring our world crashing down.

I remember bits of that day, colors mostly: the bright blue of the ocean, the warm green of the jungle.

I remember the boys, and they really were still boys then, peering at me with the curiosity most people reserve for animals at the zoo. Privately educated to a man, they didn't know what to make of this small, strange, _female_ creature intruding into their male-dominated world.

I remember my parents too, limp and washed out from the ordeal they'd been through. Everything before Thunderbird Two is a wash of color and noise to me, but I saw my parents' faces on that journey to our new home, and I know it must have been bad.

Above all, I remember the moment my father leaned down to me and whispered in my ear that _he_ was gone. That he wouldn't be able to hurt us any more. I remember that amidst my tears of confusion and fear were mingled tears of relief.

--

When International Rescue realized they had a stalker, when Lady Penelope started picking up rumors of his alias, The Hood, it meant little to me. I shared the general concern on the Island, sure, but that was grown-up business, Thunderbird business. I barely remembered my uncle's face. I never dreamed I'd see those eyes again, the eyes that still haunted my dreams.

Or have to face their reflection in myself.

It was my dad who gave me the focusing crystal, when my body began to change and my abilities first appeared. I think he was remembering something of his own brother when he whispered that I must learn not to give in to this curse. I did as he said, never showing my abilities, using the crystal to help me concentrate on suppressing them, fingering it when I thought about Alan.

Ever since I arrived on the Island, even before I could speak his language, it's been Alan who brought out the best in me, and the worst.

I look at him now, my hand going to the crystal automatically. I realize he's trembling a moment before John moves to comfort him. I take a step towards them and stop, feeling the dark pressure crushing down on my friend, hearing the voice that taunts him. My uncle was the dark shadow across my childhood long before he learned to control his gifts. Now he's a living nightmare.

"No," I whisper aloud. The crystal cuts into my fist as I strike out, screaming silent defiance at my uncle. Alan is mine!

Alan sags as if his strings have been cut, relaxing into John's arms. I see it distantly, through an orange-tinted world, as the weight he's been carrying comes to bear on me instead. I can hear that hateful voice in my own head now, whispering promises, showing me dark futures that fill me with horror.

"Tin-Tin?" Fermat is the only one watching me as I fight off the nightmare. He puts a hand on my back, peering up at me in concern. I know he's seen my eyes, but I can't change them, I can only turn my back to hide them from the rest of the family.

I'm still struggling to breathe through the bitter loathing I feel for my uncle as he calls me his child.

That gives me strength. I straighten up, and I'm standing between him and Alan now, refusing to yield. Fermat is still with me, his expression anxious. He won't ask about this, we settled that a long time ago, but he knows something has happened that goes beyond the realms of his science. I give him a smile, and I know it's triumphant. His answering smile is less convincing, and his gaze slips past me to Alan.

There's an usher in the room, calling our friend forward. Alan answers, but his eyes search me out, and I smile at him, giving him a silent promise.

I'm strong enough for this. My father survived half a lifetime at my uncle's mercy. I only have to last out the day. He's not getting past me, and he's not getting to Alan.

We may be family, but I was never his child. I'm a child of Tracy Island, of Jeff Tracy and his sons, and of Kyrano and Onaha. I draw strength from them all and put the thought at the center of my mind, where my uncle can't fail to see it.

I stand firm. I'm not hiding any more, and if I can use my abilities to rescue others I will. Even if it's just to rescue Alan.

I'm International Rescue's daughter.

* * *

_To be concluded tomorrow._


	4. Eyes of the World

_Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews. Hope the second half doesn't disappoint._

* * *

**Part Four - Eyes of the World**

The eyes of the world are on this courtroom. Outside, camera vehicles block the streets and a thousand reporters speak into microphones. Inside, there's only me.

This is Lisa Lowe, not just for IWN this time, but World Network News. I'm not sure how I managed to become the world media's nominated court correspondent. I'm not the prettiest woman to ever speak into a microphone, or the slimmest, or even the smartest, but, on the other hand, I'll admit that I do know my International Rescue.

For the three years since they first appeared, I've stood in front of their incredible vehicles giving my reports to camera, and when International Rescue are on the ground, I've filmed the team too, always making sure personally that their faces are blurred into oblivion in the final print.

It took me perhaps two months of brief glimpses and dirt-streaked faces to recognize astronaut Jeff Tracy and his eldest sons for who they were. It was another six before they began to recognize me too, throwing me the occasional smile or bowing wryly in the face of my applause. When Gordon joined the group, he dubbed me the Thunderbirds Groupie. Before their next ground mission I had a T-shirt made with those words on, and even Jeff smiled.

* * *

I was in Jubilee Gardens that day, letting the sun bake the last of Tornado Jago's cold chill out of me, and trying not to worry. The manager of the network's London studio had already kicked me out for bothering his researchers about one of the workers rescued from the rig fire. I'd stopped here on the way back from Singapore, chasing a whisper more than a rumor. It wasn't much, but it was all I could think of to do.

I knew this team. I knew the fire that drove them. And I couldn't begin to imagine what had happened to keep them from the air.

When Thunderbird Two descended out of the blue, scattering screaming children and crushing the concession stand into match-wood, I could do no more than stare at it in overwhelming relief. Twenty seconds later I was less certain, screaming into my cell-phone, begging the London team to send me a camera. The outside broadcast truck was at my side in less than two minutes.

I was concerned before the Mole deployed, but my heart didn't break until it went through the monorail. The world knew by then that something was very wrong, and no matter how I wanted to, I couldn't explain it. The machine's course had been straight and true as it intersected the support.

It was only as Thunderbird One settled in for a landing so bad Scott Tracy couldn't have been within a hundred miles of it that I realized I was seeing Thunderbirds, but not in International Rescue's hands. I had backed away from the rocket plane like everyone else, but I would have challenged the woman who embarked, pink uniform or not, if Alan hadn't been with her. I hadn't seen a photograph of him in more than two years, but even so the Tracy family baby was unmistakable. He had his father's intensity about him, and his brothers' confidence. The woman drew eyes away from him - she was good at that - but I was watching as the children slipped out and into Thunderbird Two. When the big ship took off, I was as terrified as everyone else, but perhaps I was the only one scared as much for its crew as the damage it had caused.

Mine were amongst the few eyes not on the river when Thunderbird Three landed, and mine were the only cheers when the team disembarked. The relief froze into a lump in my throat. My boys were back, but they were bloodied, burned and bruised. When Scott's gaze flicked past my frantically waving form, he was dismissing me as a threat, no more.

It hurt, I'll admit it. But they were hurting too, more than I ever knew at the time.

When I stood in front of the cameras that day, I reassured the world that International Rescue hadn't broken faith with us, and that - despite everything - they'd come through in the end. But when I reported the apparent theft of a Thunderbird, I didn't know how cruelly the battle for its ownership had been fought, and when I pointed out that a space mission must have delayed the bulk of the team, I had no idea that debris from Thunderbird Five would be streaking the night sky for weeks to come.

* * *

Alan is taking the stand first. He looks younger without his uniform, more vulnerable now I know what he endured. I've watched proudly as the fledgling Thunderbirds have found their wings in the last six months, never knowing how nearly those wings had been clipped permanently. I will him on, and his voice is confident as he confirms his name, but then his eyes fall on the accused and the expression of fear on his face is so raw, so heartfelt, that I feel I should turn away.

I don't. I keep my eyes on Alan. I'll hear his testimony through, and pass on what I can, speaking of 'Child A' and 'the International Rescue home base' rather than Alan Tracy and his father's island. Not sure if he's noticed me up here in the balcony, I give him a reassuring smile anyway. If he can endure telling his story, then I can stand listening to it and report it.

International Rescue deserves justice here. They deserve so much more than the voyeuristic adoration of children, and the feeble words of political thanks. They deserve to stand up and be seen for the heroes they are. And, even if I must keep them nameless, even if I can never share all I know, I'm proud to be the one watching as they do.


	5. That's My Boy

**Part Five - That's my Boy**

If The Hood's lawyer tries to break us, he'll try hardest and longest with Fermat.

Mr. Tracy - Jeff - warned me of that before we came here. I suppose I didn't need to be told.

My son looks so young and small and alone there on the witness stand. He's grown a little in the last six months, but Alan tops him by a head and even Tin-Tin can still look him eye to eye. Marked out by his thick glasses, shy of the stutter I cursed him with, 'Child C' is obviously the weak link in the chain. Or so the court thinks.

They don't know Fermat the way I do.

Alan and Tin-Tin have already given their evidence. It's just up to my boy to corroborate their stories, and to explain the few technical details they didn't understand. Despite that, the defense lawyer is pressing him hard, as if trying to find an inconsistency in the children's accounts.

Fermat's eyes flicker around the room as he's asked the same question for the third time. I wait until they reach me before nodding encouragingly. He rolls his eyes at me in the shorthand for frustration that we generally use when trying to explain something technical to Gordon. We've talked about this - the fact that sometimes people don't grasp things as quickly as he does – and he sighs in response to my encouragement.

He sounds tired but there is no uncertainty in his voice as he goes back to the beginning, describing the Hood embarking from the submarine and the children's journey through the vents. He only trembles a little when he recalls their fall through Thunderbird One's exhaust chute. The defense lawyer keeps coming back to this, knowing that so far it's the weakest point in the prosecution argument. After all, none of the children heard The Hood ordering their deaths.

I shudder, and grip the rail in front of me, white-knuckled, as the memories overtake me. I want to stand up and shout out the truth to the court. I want to leap over this rail and attack the man responsible. I've never felt so swept away by irrational emotion.

Except once.

Except for the moment I heard Thunderbird One's engines firing, saw the blazing inferno on the silo cameras, and knew without question that my son had to be dead.

The woman Transom's face lit with delight. The beast of a man, Mullion, laughed aloud. All I could see was fire, until The Hood stopped me. He probably saved my life. He certainly showed nothing but distaste for his companion's laughter. But he never once showed the least remorse.

I'm breathing hard now, but Fermat's eyes are on me, and I force my grip to relax. There will be time enough to tell my story when I'm called to the stand. I'll make sure this jury knows just how lucky the children had been to survive, and exactly how the blame is spread around. I won't let the Hood escape a single charge.

For now, I take comfort in seeing my son standing proud, his IR pin on his lapel and his voice strong as he talks about Alan's decision to try the hover-bike.

"And who fixed it - the so-complicated device?" The Hood's voice, velvet-smooth, startles us all. The man has been silent since the end of Alan's evidence, not even looking toward his niece as she spoke. "Doesn't it bother you, Fermat, that you do all the work and Alan takes the credit?"

The judge raps the bench with her gavel. There are already two counts of contempt against the accused, born out of his merciless taunting of poor Alan. Now the judge adds a third, reminding our attacker that he must speak through his counsel. The man raises his hands in a gesture that could be taken as an apology, or as a shrug of casual indifference. There is a smile on his face, and although his eyes are still bound, he faces my son, awaiting his reaction.

Alan and Tin-Tin looked terrified of this man. Fermat gazes at him with contempt. "Alan and I are a team," he says simply and I know it's true. Whatever differences they might have had were settled that same day.

The defense counsel is glancing down at his papers, trying to hide his annoyance with his client, and his disappointment that Fermat hasn't been the witness he'd hoped for. He looks up, stepping away from his desk, and I lean forward trying to lend my son strength. The lawyer looks like he's moving in for the kill.

"Fermat, no one's questioning that you were very brave. I know that your family and your friends are very angry, and they have reason to be. My client hasn't denied that his actions caused them hurt. Being angry is fine, Fermat. It's natural. But do you think, just possibly, it might be making you remember things, well, differently? Maybe when you remember it, it all seems worse than it really was? Remember, Fermat, you've promised to tell nothing but the truth here. Might you be exaggerating - oh not deliberately, but just a little?"

I relax. The lawyer is talking to Fermat as if he's a child. He isn't that, hasn't been for six months now.

My son answers quietly. "I remember what happened v..very clearly. I haven't changed a s..s..single fact." He looks up at The Hood and his expression is carefully neutral. "Am I angry? Yes. Of c..course. That ma..ma.., that ma... that person tried to kill every m..member of my family. But that's not why I'm h..he... in this room. I came because if The H..h..hood doesn't answer for what he d..did, he'll do it again. That's why we all came. If we hadn't risked e..e..everything we have, everything we d..do, to pr..pre.. to give evidence, he'd have walked free and p..p..people would have died. I'm here to s..s..s.., to s..save lives." It's a long speech for Fermat and I feel like applauding his courage, but he hasn't finished yet. "I'm h..here because I'm a member of International Rescue. And that's what we do."

Now I'm on my feet, and rest of the public gallery has risen to theirs around me. Some of them are clapping, despite the judge's calls for order. Not me. I'm offering my son an International Rescue salute, and I see the tears in his eyes as he returns it.

That's my boy.


	6. Ain't Life Grand?

**Part Six – Ain't Life Grand Sometimes?**

I don't like courtrooms. Never have. Ole 'Nosey' Parker has been the guest of his Majesty a few times too many to feel comfortable with the long arm of the law. Even so, I feel the need to be here, lending Mr. Tracy and his boys my support.

From my spot in the balcony, I can see the dome of The Hood's bald head, and the bright red tie covering his peepers. His hands are bound too, and it's still not enough. If I had my way, I'd've gagged the man. I stare at him, and at the bluebottles to either side of him, and one thought runs through my much-abused, but still functioning, head:

If it hadn't been for her Ladyship, that could've been me.

I'm flattering myself, of course. I was good, yes, but never the brains of the outfit. At best I'd have been one of his henchmen. Hired hands. Thugs.

If it hadn't been for her.

* * *

It was never about the money, always about the thrill of game, living on the sting of adrenalin. I never much cared what happened next. I reckon that was probably why I got myself caught.

I realized I was getting old halfway through my last stretch. My fingers weren't as quick as they had been, and my heart simply wasn't in it. I'd started to worry about the people affected by my games. Not the fat cats and the lords and ladies who found their trinkets gone, but the little folks – their servants and security guards, the employees of the banks and their folks back home. The people like me.

The parole programme was my last chance to put things right. God knows I wanted to. Even so, I couldn't miss the talk amongst the other cons. They put on their best contrite looks for their P.O.'s, but they were planning something big, and they wanted Nosey Parker in on it. After all, he was the best.

'Course I was flattered. Wouldn't you of been?

Saying no would've got me a kicking, at best. Saying yes would drag me back into a game that just wasn't much fun any more. If I hadn't been desperate by the time the 'careers fair' swung around and we were put on display like common cattle, I'd've laughed in the little lady's face.

As it was, the slender wisp of a girl gave me a hard look. She'd been pointed in my direction she said, although she never told me who by or why. Twelve months probation. Well, those were words I was used to, and hardly a pittance by my recent standards.

Twelve months of driving her Ladyship around, learning when to be there, and when to make myself scarce. Learning to keep my mouth shut too. I was good at it.

That first year, it was the mystery that kept it all from being, if you'll pardon the word, well, _boring_. I wasn't sure what to make of her 'business trips', or of the young men who came to collect her, bringing strange gifts – a teapot I wasn't to use, a picture frame, even a car I was forbidden ever to drive. I wasn't sure approved. The Yank boys weren't worth a tenth of her, but I'd learned to keep my opinions to myself. I kept schtum about it all, and did my job.

It was early one fine morning in spring, and I was wondering whether her Ladyship was planning on going riding or wanted the car readied, when I hesitated outside her door.

"I would trust him with my life, Jeff." Her Ladyship sounded more serious than I had ever heard her, and her clipped accent put a dignity in the words that I'd not often heard. "He has a good heart, and, to be quite honest with you, we could use him."

"You're trusting him with all our lives." I started, more surprised to hear the male voice coming from her room than by their words. He paused. "All right, Penny, bring him along. I'll send Scott…"

Her voice was calm, imperturbable, as she interrupted. "I believe we'll make our own way." Far off, I heard the bell ringing as she summoned me. "I'll see you soon, Jeff."

I guessed she had to be on a speaker 'phone, 'though I hadn't known the extension was capable of it, and the line had been so clear this 'Jeff' might've been in the room. I counted to a slow twenty before entering. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, the 'phone resting on its table several meters away. "You rang, m'lady?"

"Parker, bring the car around."

I gave a firm nod, keeping my eyes modestly averted from her night attire. "Certainly, m'lady. Which one?"

A faint smile danced around her lips as she told me. Life would never be boring again.

* * *

A light flashes suddenly in my lapel pin, and her voice comes very softly through my earpiece. "Parker, I need you."

I rise at once, easing my way out of the gallery while trying not to distract young Master Hackenbacker in the witness box. The court has settled down since his declaration. The Hood is sitting quietly although his loud, sardonic laughter still seems to hang in the air and crawl down my spine. The judge warned him after that disruption that another outburst would not be tolerated.

A thought occurs and I reach into my pocket, flicking a little something down into the courtroom before I slip through the door.

The car is waiting where I parked it, two streets away from the courthouse. I polarize the glass, hiding my presence and the fact that I have no passengers. No need to go attracting the nearby media frenzy. As I drive the London streets, my fingers are playing across a quite unique panel on the dashboard, bringing the surveillance device online and hovering it not far from my target's ear.

International Rescue would never do this. Mr. Tracy and his sons would never hum the same tune, over and again, until The Hood cries out in frustration. They'd never chuckle quietly as he's led away to a sound-proofed booth to watch the proceedings unheard until called to offer a defense. That's why they have her Ladyship and me, out of the limelight, doing what has to be done.

I'm still humming as I finally reach open ground and take FAB1 into to the air, but the bug is gone, crushed into oblivion by an oblivious plod. No matter. The Hood isn't going to spit his venom at our lads any more, and that's a job well done.

I can see her Ladyship already knows when I settle briefly beside Thunderbird One and she slips into the backseat. "Parker," she says simply, but her lips are quaking with silent laughter.

I hide my smile. "Yes, m'lady. Sorry, m'lady."

She shakes her head. "No matter."

She gives me our destination and we're off again in comfortable silence. Never a dull moment in this job. Her ladyship said it a while back. Ain't life grand sometimes?

**The End**


End file.
